


Ghosts in The Land of The Living

by twolittlehummingbirds



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, idek, it's raining and foggy this morning so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twolittlehummingbirds/pseuds/twolittlehummingbirds
Summary: He never realized before how useful it was to have people around him... funny enough, it grounded him to reality, something different from this utterly real delusion he was in. Cause it had to be, right?How long had it been since the last time he was able to rest?





	

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about possibilities. Could anything have been different? Looking at the city from up above, the fog enveloping everything like a thick and ever moving veil, a living being absorbing and corrupting… Wasn’t there a hope, a choice, an opportunity for him once?  
He had forgotten in which part of the world he currently was. It had been so long… so many places, so many days, months. He lost count. He never realized before how useful it was to have people around him... funny enough, it grounded him to reality, something different from this utterly real delusion he was in. Cause it had to be, right?  
How long had it been since the last time he was able to rest?  
Was he sure that this wasn’t a dream? Hadn’t he lived all of this already?

_**Focus** _

He closed his eyes, pressing the pitch of his nose with his fingers. There was something he needed to do, someone he needed to find…

_Looks like you forgot something important, Mr. Holmes_

He froze, eyes open and alert. He didn’t need to turn around to know who was in the room with him: the click of heels against the floor and that unforgettable perfume were enough to make a deduction.

“You’re not really here, you never are.”

_How can you be so certain?_

“Because you’re dead, Woman” A pause. Everything froze.

 _Oh my, nobody invited me to the funeral. Should I be angry?_ A movement. _Now that I think about it, you didn’t invite me to yours either…_

He scoffed and kept looking outside, ignoring the brush of fabric somewhere behind him. Was she sitting on the sofa? Circling it? Moving towards him?

_Such intricate illusions we create for ourselves. I guess that makes us both ghosts in the land of–_

No, he… “I don’t have time for this, I need to…”

_**Focus** _

_Do you really think this is the best way to do so, you prick?!_

He snapped around, expecting to find John behind him, angry and disappointed. Once again, since it seemed that was the most common emotion he incited in people lately. Why was that again…?  
But instead, he only found the Woman, staring at him with a wicked, knowing smile. She appeared to him as she always did, all high heels and red lips, all edges and sharp touches, so clear in his mind even after all these years. Then, how was it that her outline seemed to blur…?  
Her smile seemed to fade a little, while she studied him with a pensive look.

_Sometimes I think that the only reason you hurt yourself like this and come here is because you miss me…_

_Did you miss me?_ A beat. Just the whisper of another ghost…

She took a step forward. He just stared at her, stuck between the wall and all the rest, with her in the middle. The queen in a world of forgotten figures. A feeble hiss started behind him, the breathless song of all the things he wouldn't have been able to say anyway.  
Another step. The fog was creeping in through cracks in the glass, tears in the wallpaper, holes in his body. The wet, humid air filled his lungs, blackening his insides, his skin, his thoughts. He welcomed the cold sensation that seemed to abate the fire that was burning in his mind.  
Another step. Always the mind, ignore the body.  
Another step. What a painless death that would be…  
Another step. Still, there was…

“…something I need to do…?”

She stopped in front of him. The whole room was slowly disappearing around them, leaving nothing but the memory of it. It felt like her eyes and lips were the only things that were left. That look she was giving him… Pain in his chest, another hazy memory of something that hadn’t happened yet. _The Woman will cry._ She shouldn’t be worried about him. Why would she? The smell of disinfectant, the quiet bips of machinery, a rose and that look. Just ghosts in the land of the living.

She made a shushing noise and put a hand on his chest, exactly where Mary shot him. Mary? He frowned, confused.

_Too deep, Sherlock.  
_

 

He woke up alone in his bed in Baker Street. A think layer of mist was still covering the streets.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this misty pic](https://67.media.tumblr.com/067f4a73b3018d8e7eba2e39963eb571/tumblr_nn1b60m9px1ryzxlao1_500.gif) in day 19. I haven't written something in forever, I'm gonna post this before I get too much conscious of my choices...  
> This is what happen when it's raining, I listen to playlists for rainy days (for real) and are still fascinated by all the all the references to the Woman Sherlock has in his drug-induced allucination.


End file.
